


Dramatic Irony

by QueensJenn



Category: Ylvis
Genre: Brotherly feels, Food Poisoning, Gen, puking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueensJenn/pseuds/QueensJenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He really shouldn't have eaten the lasagne. But it's not like they're going win, right?</p><p>(A ficced version of the Comedy Awards where Bård couldn't because he was home sick)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dramatic Irony

**Author's Note:**

> On my last fic, 'Rumour Has It', Avidreader wrote that I should do the follow-up, where Ylvis won a Best TV Show award, but Bård wasn't there because he was sick with a bad stomach.  
> (Article in Norwegian: http://www.kjendis.no/2012/08/25/kjendis/vegard_ylvisaker/gullruten/komiprisen/nrk/23122988/)
> 
> And how could I resist a challenge like that? XD
> 
> (And in other news...this is the 3rd food poisoning fic I have on AO3, in 3 different fandoms. I'm sensing a trend here...)

Vegard lets himself into his brother’s house without knocking. Bård hadn’t been answering his phone all day, and it’s just like the little shit to make them late to the awards ceremony. Not like it matters. Not like they’re going to win.

 

“Bård,” he calls, slipping off his shoes in the front hall. “You’d better be up. And dressed. If I come in there and you’re naked...!”

 

No answer. Vegard rolls his eyes and starts down the hall. No one in the living room. Nor the kitchen. 

 

The bedroom door is closed. Vegard rolls his eyes and and swears silently. “I’m opening the door. If you’re still in bed, I will kill you. It’s 5:00 in the afternoon!” 

 

But there’s no one in the bed when he opens the door. There is, however, someone in the bathroom.

 

“Bård?” he asks.

 

 The only answer is a groan.

 

“Are you...okay?”

 

Another groan. Vegard takes a hesitant step toward the bathroom.

 

Bård is slumped against the toilet, resting his cheek on the rim. By the looks of things, this has been going on for awhile.

 

“Fuck you,” he whispers, his voice cracked and broken. 

 

“What? What did I do?”

 

Bård starts to answer, but is overtaken by another round of nausea. Vegard watches helplessly as he dry-heaves into the bowl, then collapses again. 

 

“Dinner. Last night.” he whispers, swallowing convulsively. 

 

“Last night...” 

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

They’d been working late, as usual. When Vegard had looked at the clock and saw that all of a sudden it had become 11pm and they hadn’t eaten since 1:30, he’d called for take-out.

 

Except this time, instead of their usual place, he’d taken a risk and tried out a little Italian place he’d always seen but never been in. If he’d stopped to think about it, it might have seemed a little suspicious that there was never anyone inside it, but it was late and he was hungry and it seemed like a good idea at the time. 

 

“Shit,” he says, kneeling down next to Bård and putting a hand on his back. “Sorry. I thought the cheese on the lasagne looked a little weird.”

 

That’s all it takes. Bård retches again. “I - really - hate - you,” he gets out between heaves.

 

“Sorry, sorry...” Vegard holds his hair back with one hand, and rubs his back with the other until the fit passes. “How long has this been going on? And why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

 

“Puked on it,” he says miserably. Sure enough, the soiled garment is lying in a sad heap in the bathtub. “My favourite one, too.”

 

“We’ll clean it.” 

 

Bård nods, not having the energy for words anymore. He rests his head against the rim again, and closes his eyes.

 

Vegard sighs and stands up, pouring a cool glass of water from the tap. He kneels again, then moves backward until he’s sitting with his back against the wall. Bård looks at him and he opens his arms, knowing instinctively what his brother needs right now. Without hesitation Bård curls up against him and rests his head on his chest. Vegard hands him the glass and he automatically takes a small, cautious sip. 

 

“This is just what you need right now, isn’t it,” Vegard sighs, half to himself. "Of all things..." It has to be puking. 

 

“I am never eating again,” he whispers.

 

“Stop it,” Vegard says, a little more sharply than he intends to. “Don’t talk that way.”

 

“You’re never picking the restaurant again.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I’m dying, Vegard.”

 

“No you’re not.”

 

“I might be.” 

 

They sit in silence for a little while, until Bård says softly, “I don’t think I’m going to make it to the awards.”

 

Vegard swears. He’d forgotten all about the comedy awards tonight. “I’ll skip them too. I don’t even want to go.”

 

“No, you have to go. What if we win?”

 

Vegard looks down, surprised. Bård looks up, one eyebrow raised. 

 

“You must be feeling better if you can make jokes.”

 

“No...I wouldn’t say that...” He takes another sip of the water, then slumps back against his brother. Vegard sighs. He knows Bård is right; that they can’t really skip the event even if there’s no way they’re going to win. 

 

“Then I should go,” he says.

 

Bård frowns, but nods. “Yeah, you should.”

 

“Are you going to be okay?”

 

“I think so.”

 

He’s probably right; he’s not feverish and seems to be able to keep water down, so he probably is on the mend.

 

“Do you want to try to make it to bed?”

 

Bård nods, tries to stand up, then pales, and lunges for the toilet again. 

 

“Fuck,” Vegard sighs. 

 

~~~

 

Much later, after Vegard has left, Bård stumbles out of the bathroom and towards the bed. He’s only feeling marginally better, but Vegard has thoughtfully left a bucket next to the bed, so he decides to risk it.

 

For awhile he lies in bed feeling sorry for himself, but that gets boring rapidly. His computer is lying on the bedside table, but even the thought of work is unappealing in the extreme, so that’s ruled out as well. 

 

So he turns on the TV to the Comedy Awards. At least he can get a laugh out of Vegard trying to school his face into something appropriately pleasant when someone else wins. 

 

As luck would have it, he’s tuned in just in time to see the award that they’d been nominated for. He smiles, with a pang of guilt, when he spots Vegard and the empty seat next to him. He shudders to think of how bored his brother must be right now. At least if both of them are there, they can get drunk and laugh at everyone else together.

 

He pays attention as they start presenting the award. The other nominees are strong contenders, and as always he feels that sinking feeling of just _not being good enough_ , even though he tries to remind himself that just being nominated is an honour. It’s just that others are better, funnier, more popular...

 

_“And the award for Best TV Show goes to...I Kveld Med Ylvis!”_

 

Bård’s jaw drops open. “Oh you have got to be fucking _kidding_ me!”

 

~~~

 

Sunlight falls across his closed eyelids and Bård sighs. He shouldn’t be awake. He sighs and rolls over, burying his face into his pillow and tries to drift off again. 

 

Then he frowns: he was sure he’d closed the curtains last night, somewhere between puking for the last time and collapsing into bed. 

 

He opens his eyes and nearly jumps out of his skin.

 

“Morning!” Vegard says cheerfully. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress and has one hand hidden behind his back. Bård doesn’t need to guess what’s in it.

 

“Fucking shit!” he gasps. “I’m going to take away your key, I swear to God!”

 

“Did you happen to watch the awards last night on TV?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So you know what happened last night?”

 

“You sent me fourteen drunken texts. I would have known what happened even if I hadn’t watched.”

 

Vegard has the grace to look at least slightly abashed.

 

“So can I see it?” Bård asks. He sits up, wincing at the sore muscles in his abdomen. Vegard pulls his hands out from behind his back, presenting the little statue. Bård whistles. 

 

“It’s real.”

 

“Of course it’s real.”

 

“We really won.” Suddenly unable to contain himself, he throws his arms around his brother.

 

“Aughhhh you need a shower!” Vegard cries, but hugs him back. “We did this. And you know, I have a good feeling about 2013. I think it’s going to be our year.”

 

“Mm,” Bård agrees. “Not really sure it can get any better. It’s pretty great the way it is.”

 

And suddenly Vegard just hugs him as fiercely as he can. “That’s right,” he says softly. “That’s right.” He kisses Bård’s hair, then lets go as his brother squirms away, embarrassed

 

“You hungry?” he asks.

 

Bård pauses, then nods. “Yeah. I am.”

 

Vegard lets out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “I’m too hungover to cook, and I don’t think you want to, so why don’t you get a shower and I’ll run out and get us something.”

 

“Uh...”

 

“Banana pancakes? Your favourite?”

 

That seals it. Bård nods and throws back the covers. “Extra syrup on mine,” he calls as he goes in the bathroom and shuts the door.

 

Vegard nods and picks up his keys, and can’t resist laughing when there comes a howl from the bathroom.

 

 “Fucking hell my _shirt!”_  

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Not Just Different, Better](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085885) by [AOO](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AOO/pseuds/AOO)




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